


Freckles

by Bur



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 21:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bur/pseuds/Bur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean has made it his mission to count all of Marco's freckles.  (Spoilers for Trost Arc)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freckles

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SnKKink meme on Dreamwidth for the adorable prompt "KISS ALL THE FRECKLES!", but I had to be an ass and throw in angst. C&C is welcome.

Once Jean made a decision he never backed down from it. Whether it was fighting his way into the top ten so he could join the Military Police (so far, so good) or beating that arrogant bastard’s face in (working on it), one way or another he would succeed. His newest goal was to find and kiss every one of Marco’s freckles.

At the moment this seemed like a far more important goal than the others. It was probably his hormones talking, but Jean was at peace with that. It wasn’t as if it really interfered with anything, though it made hand-to-hand training more interesting.

The ones on his face had been easily taken care of during stolen moments behind equipment sheds. Marco had been so embarrassed when he figured out what he was doing. Jean couldn’t understand why, but thought it might have something to do with counting them out loud.

He had thirty-one spread across his cheeks.

***

Jean spotted a new freckle while they were in the mess hall. He was stepping over the bench to sit down when he saw it, just behind Marco’s ear, nestled against his hairline. There were better places than this to christen its discovery, but Jean wasn’t about to let a little thing like being surrounded by their fellow trainees stop him.

Marco’s coarse hair tickled Jean’s nose as he pushed in close to press a kiss on the freckle. It took Marco longer than he’d expected to react. It was a play in slow motion, his shoulders stiffening, fork stilling with a sharp scratch against his plate, before in a great rush he flushed from his neck to his ears.

“Fifty-three,” he said, ignoring the snickers around them and Marco’s growing splutters.

***

Things had slowed down after he’d kissed his way through the freckles that dusted Marco’s shoulders. There were much fewer down his arms, nearly none at all on his chest and back. This, he tells himself, is why he’s so excited by the scattering he’d found across Marco’s thighs. 

Of course, it’s equally likely he’s excited just because he’s finally between them.

“J-jean, is this really the time?”

He looked up from freckle number two hundred and twelve. His hand pushed against Marco’s knee to keep his legs open. “Since when are you the impatient one?”

This was the first time Jean had seen him actually, genuinely annoyed. Marco was always so impossibly nice. He never got angry, only raised his voice when he had to, and here he was staring down at Jean with gritted teeth like it was taking every ounce of his willpower to not pull Jean where he wanted him to go. His fingers tightened in Jean’s hair and he thought Marco was about to do just that.

It was kind of amazing.

Jean had made a decision, though, and he never backed down from his decisions. He pressed another kiss to Marco’s inner thigh. “Two hundred thirteen.”

“Damnit, Jean!”

***

Jean didn’t know if it was the buzzing of the flies or the rush of blood in his ears that was so loud. It drowned out everything around him as he pulled Marco’s body into his arms. The full cart going past him, the record keeper’s footsteps as she walked away, even his own thoughts seemed distant and muffled by the rise and fall of it.

He was so light. As Jean shifted Marco’s weight he felt something splash against him, the damp cold that seeped through his clothing, and he had to breath through his mouth as, all at once, his senses came back to him. His hearing snapped back into focus and the bass staccato of fluid dripping onto his boot cut through him. His throat tightened and pulsed in time with it.

Jean wondered if burning his clothes would rid him of the smell or if he’d carry it in his pores for the rest of his life.

A member of the Stationary Guard stopped his cart by him. “Put him in.”

Jean looked down at the wreck that remained of Marco. There, under his jaw, a spot he hadn’t seen before. It was probably dirt or the start of rot, but as he settled Marco’s body in the cart he pressed a kiss to it anyways. Macro’s skin was cold even through the cloth that covered his mouth.

“Two hundred forty-six.”


End file.
